Slithering Maze 8: Cost of Forgeries and Lack of Muffins

Basysus, 27, 1278: Arth Prayogar. Capital City of the Jata kingdom. Hurray?

Author’s Note: Kingdom of the Slithering Maze is a serialized fiction story that is a part of a collection called the Windtracer Tales. It follows the adventures of Tela Kioni and her crew dealing with expeditions in and around the world of Awldor. There they hunt down lost, and possibly lethal, relics of the Ancient Order, a near-mythical kingdom lost to the centuries old cataclysm, the Great Collapse.

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Previously: Wrangling a basilisk proved easier said than done. But while erratic, the plan was still sound. Tela and crew managed to soothe the massive beast then learn an interesting thing or two. First, the normally peaceful threadmarrow basilisk might have had a run in with Herd Tolvana. Second? Auditor Elkerton had been lying through his pearly teeth. Not just to Tela and the others with her, but the Trade-Warden city watch as well! Now, with the trouble and dust settled, all that leaves is a bit of fallout…

Basysus, 27, 1278: Arth Prayogar. Capital City of the Jata kingdom. Hurray?

There were a lot of ways to ruin my day. Elkerton tried most of them while screaming at me. After that, his stupid forged scroll and bad attitude were a Trade-Warden problem. Besides, I had to make sure no one was hurt, then take care of the other enormous problem nearby.

Fortunately, I had a bag of solutions, which led the basilisk back to its hole. I had to wipe my eyes after it left because of the dust. Obviously.

Also, if muffins solved as many problems as easily as it did with that threadmarrow, I suspected life wouldn’t be so complicated.

It was four days and one slightly bruised windwagon later when we reached the towering warm sandstone arched gates of Arth Prayogar.

I sat by a window in the windwagon as we arrived, half-buried in a jumble of my own making. It was a nest of two journals, a pencil, and my mad archaeological ramblings from over four days framed by a few threadmarrow basilisk doodles. I wasn’t ashamed to admit that I thought the behemoth was cute in a ‘could rampage a city for baked goods’ sort of way.

This wasn’t my first visit to the capital city of Jata. Despite their deep obsession with trade, and how poorly they treated non-centaurs, it was always impressive.

Arth Prayogar itself was a city-state of carved sandstone, adobe brick, wood, and colored sun-glass that stretched on both sides of the Ordess River. A hundred terraced layers dripped with more ferns and vines than the average jungle. In between that stretched numerous canal systems, like veins pouring life through the city proper.

“Talk about a gilded cage,” I murmured with a glance outside while we trundled through the gates.

On the other bench across from me, Kiyosi nodded in silence. Mikasi, who’d walked across the windwagon’s common room with an open notebook and fresh thoughts, pointed out the window with a pencil.

“For some more than others,” he said.

Outside, a small quartet of bandaged, bitter Trade-Warden centaurs in worn armor trotted nearby. They guarded an even more irate Auditor Elkerton through the main gates.

The manacled auditor was brought to a stop in front of an older centaur with steel-colored hair and fur. He wore a dust-blue brigandine armor that had almost as many old scars as its owner. The older centaur scowled, wrinkling his nose, while he read Elkerton’s forged authorization as if it stank like yesterday’s sewage.

I hadn’t memorized the entire massive list of Jata heraldry since I had a life after all. But that iron and obsidian cloak clasp on that centaur’s armor stood out like a lighthouse.

It was the stamped hoof, balance scales, and sun-eye symbol of the Warden Chief. Head of the Trade-Warden city watch. He was the one person in Jata whose job it was to organize law and order from all the chaos. I sort of felt sorry for him.

“Looks like a contest to see who’s the most unhappy,” I decided, rolling the pencil between my fingers.

Kiyosi, blue tiefling tail curled protectively around him, pulled his nose out of his own journal to glance outside. He grunted with a light sniff. Almost as if he needed to bodily yank the words out of himself for a reply.

“By the Mending Brother, I want Elkerton to win that contest if there’s still any justice in the world,” he grumbled.

I tapped my pencil against the edge of the leather bound journal in my lap.

“The Trade-Wardens at the checkpoint told me that Elkerton broke a dozen laws. But at worst, he’d get a fine or something. Herd Tolvana would make the rest go away so things wouldn’t get complicated. They sounded sore about it, too.”

Mikasi shrugged.

“I’m not surprised,” he said and shrugged. “It’s an uneasy tug-of-war between the Trade-Wardens enforcing the law, and the Merchant Herds exploiting loopholes in their own laws.”

“Lovely,” I sighed.

It wasn’t hard to overhear the conversation outside while we lumbered past. The Warden Chief wasn’t stingy with his curses and commentary. Elkerton had violated more laws than a thieves’ guild on a smash and grab spree. While the buffalo pulled the windwagon along the main paved road into the city, I watched the yelling with interest.

Elkerton shot an ugly glare at me while we trundled past, which made me shudder.

“You’re about to be someone else’s problem… until you’re back to being mine, aren’t you?” I murmured.

We swapped glares until I lost sight of him. Eventually, we turned past a blacksmith’s shop onto Arth Prayogar’s High Street. That road led to the government district and Market Square.

About midday, we reached the inn and rooms the Council of Seven had assigned to Liru and his retinue.

The door to my room opened with barely a sound when I pushed it. Just a soft creak of wood on hinges to let me know they were there. I checked for a door lock out of habit, then strolled in like I temporarily owned the place.

Inside was a spacious, wide room with polished wooden floors and light tan sandstone walls. Each one was inlaid with rectangular, blue-white and gold-trimmed mosaic tiles along its length. Doors led out to a washroom, and some nook-shaped thing I dubbed ‘murder storage’. A double doorway opened onto a balcony that overlooked the Market Square.

“Nice,” I murmured. “Linen sheets and all. I feel like I’m getting bribed.”

My pack and satchel got tossed onto the bed, and my whip on a nearby chest of drawers. Daggers stayed on me. That was a habit ever since the insanity of the Bathrogg Station ruins down in the Great Chasm. Those ruins nearly killed me. Not a mistake I wanted to make again.

I glanced out the double doors to the balcony where Kiyosi was perched against the carved, stone railing. He’d already found his room, dropped his gear off and invaded mine.

“You are,” Kiyosi replied with a sigh. “We are. Probably all because of what Elkerton tried.” He waved a hand at nothing. “This is Herd Tolvana making nice and hoping we don’t turn it into an open scandal.”

I walked out onto the balcony, unbraiding the three braids I usually wore.

“Court intrigue? Social warfare?” I asked in an uneasy, sour voice.

“Court intrigue,” he confirmed. “Backdoor bribery for fun and profit.”

I rolled my eyes dramatically, letting out an annoyed groan.

With the last braid released, I scrubbed my fingers through my hair. It took only a second before my locks floofed out in a disturbed mess, like I’d been dragged backwards through a festival tent. Despite how it looked, the tension eased out of my head.

Kiyosi’s light green eyes roamed the rainbow-hued sun-tarps stretched over tent poles in the market below. Local crowds of mostly centaurs wandered between the merchant stalls. A modest number of humans, minotaurs, and others also made an appearance.

It was all a normal market day in any large city-state. Bolts of colorful cloth of all colors were out for sale. Elsewhere, rich spices scented the air with cinnamon and more.

Then there were the butchers, cooking up their wares on fire carts for hungry customers. A heavenly scent of seasoned, grilled meat floated on the air. It was like a friendly, sizzling ghost with the cloying odor of peppers.

I wondered more about the midday meal than about our current problems.

After a moment, Kiyosi gave me a side-eye with a raised eyebrow.

“There’s always riding over to the council building on your basilisk friend,” he suggested. “It’d get the entire Jata council’s attention.”

I narrowed my eyes at him, throwing my hands up in the air.

“Really? This again? Ki, haven’t we talked this to death?”

He shook his head at me, still perched against the railing.

“I still think that threadmarrow will burrow back after what happened. Tela, you imprinted on it.”

Other than debates over the viprin temple and the Iraxi, this had been our most energetic conversation. Mostly, we had agreed to disagree. I thought we were done, but apparently not quite.

“How?” I demanded, throwing my arms wide. “All right, yes. I accidentally wove a mind magic spell, and it splashed on the threadmarrow basilisk. That doesn’t make me a scaly beast whisperer!”

It was Kiyosi’s turn to frown, tail making that irritated whiplash motion.

“Actually, it might.” Then, his expression turned thoughtful. “Especially since I wonder if someone might have tried to domesticate it before.”

That melted all the tirade out of me.

“Wait, what?”

Kiyosi nodded with that sage-like expression of his, then studied the busy Market Square below us.

“Domesticate. There are some nobles from Sol city who try it. Sometimes they want one as a pet, or a warbeast, or just for their ego. Usually ends with the basilisk burrowing off or the noble getting crushed.”

I glanced out at the sandstone watch-spires, colored bronze-gold in the oddly warm winter prairie light. A street crier called the latest news, as dozens of miniature water clock towers on major street corners rang the hour. That aroma of grilled skewers below still gnawed at my attention.

Thoughtfully, I combed my abused long hair with my fingers, then worked to corral it back into my usual three braids. I fumbled the second braid after Kiyosi cleared his throat.

“Tela, have you been doing those practice lessons Odro taught you? The ones to help keep your mind magic under control?”

I untangled my fingers from a hair braiding disaster, cutting a sideways glance at Kiyosi. Then I started over on that second braid with a near-savage intensity.

“No.”

The growl under my reply made even me wince. It sounded like a verbal punch to the nose, so I added more to try to soften the blow.

“Well… I mean, I try.” A sigh blew out of me while I attacked creating the last braid. “But it’s hard. I get splitting headaches, and my vision gets blurry.”

I left out the part where my fingertips still tingled. Almost like there was a residue of something left over.

Kiyosi frowned at me with a healer’s fussy expression. A dozen questions lit up his eyes.

“Headaches?” A tight line of concern threaded his words and his forehead. “Tela, you need to send a message to Odro, see what he says.”

Fortunately, a certain halfling inventor came to my rescue, even if he didn’t know it.

Mikasi pushed open the door to my room, a bright smile across his face. The wide assortment of tools lining his brown canvas vest rattled a little while he crossed the room to join us on the balcony.

“Found you! I wondered where you both went. These are very nice rooms.” He pointed over his shoulder. “Liru and his guards have the big double room across the hall.”

I shook my head.

“It feels as if the entire floor was set aside for all of us. Like a big performance.”

“They’re showing off,” Mikasi replied with a shrug. “Trying to impress Liru, maybe throw him off a little before any negotiations.”

“Contained is a better word,” came a soft, hissing reply at the door.

Skarri slithered in, still wearing her armor, which was now brushed clean of prairie dust and grass. Scars from the tussle with the threadmarrow mingled with older scars from nameless fights she’d had before. The temple guard’s sword was still by her side, resting easily on her hip, where the viprin’s human-like torso met her snake tail lower half.

Mikasi winced a little at the comment but didn’t reply. It made sense to me. Merchant Herds liked what they could control, or at least manipulate.

The temple guard slithered over but stopped short of the balcony.

“Contained means easier to observe,” she explained. “Easier to find our weak spots to exploit in negotiations, or eliminate us if we become a problem.”

Kiyosi snorted.

“Observe with knives out,” he suggested dryly.

“That is exactly why Liru assigned me to all of you,” Skarri continued. “The Council of Seven requires formality of armed escorts, but Liru doesn’t trust the Merchant Herds. Especially since you’re to be called to explain before the Council about the incident with Auditor Elkerton.”

Finished with my aggression braiding, which resulted in one long braid, I rubbed the bridge of my nose. My timetable ran through my head like a scroll tossed into a fire.

“By the Lady Deep, that’ll take forever. It’ll delay everything.”

Kiyosi stood up straight and stretched, letting out a long-suffering sigh.

“It has to be pretense. They’ll want to cover up what happened with Elkerton. A story of a rampaging basilisk and forged documents isn’t good for business.”

Mikasi glanced around at all of us, nervous as a terrified stray cat. Slowly, he twisted the buttons on his vest until I thought he’d rip them off by accident.

“There’s something else,” he admitted. The inventor pursed his lips and pointed at the Market Square. “I visited some booths in the market and overheard something.”

The way he paused got my full attention. I frowned, instinctively reaching for the visible daggers at my belt.

“What?”

“Someone is asking about Windtracers, like a priest or enchanter. Wondering if we’d arrived yet, and where we were staying.”

“Who…?” I asked, then interrupted myself with a ragged sigh.

“Saint’s Tide,” I swore. “We don’t need this any harder. Is anyone selling muffins by the wagon in the market? We could get the basilisk to come along. It can sit in on the damn meeting.”

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Windtracer Tales is a work of pure, unashamed fiction. In fact, it considers itself rather fancy and quite proud of itself. Names of characters, places, events, organizations and locations are all creations of the author’s imagination for this fictitious setting. Any resemblance to persons living, dead, or reanimated is coincidental. The opinions expressed are those of the characters and should not be confused with the author’s, since the characters and the author tend to disagree a lot.

Also! Windtracer Tales and Windtracer: Adventures in Awldor is written with much respect to Starfarertheta and their work on the other half of Awldor.